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The first thing Galatea knew was pain. But, not having a word for it and nothing to compare it to, she did not know it should be bad. It was only sensation, the first sensation she had known after an indeterminate time of knowing nothing. Thinking back, she could dimly remember having been a part of the Earth and being ripped loose by rough tools, but that had been before real awareness.

The pain came from chisels and with it brought awareness. So, Galatea reveled in each strike, making some piece of her become not her. Who she was focused and coalesced. Soon, she became aware of a second sensation, a hand, stroking her surface, finding the places to strike with the chisel and following where the chisel had struck, pulling away splinters and smoothing her surface. So, Galatea knew gentleness and pain as the two opposites of experience and loved them both.

In loving the pain and the gentleness, Galatea became aware of another, more complex love emanating into her. It was the love of her creator for herself, not this roughly-hewn piece of marble, but her real self, what she was now aching to become.

Quickly on the heels of love came a bewildering array of sensations, flooding in so rapidly that Galatea could make no sense of them, her cosmology being complete in the three concepts of pain, gentleness, and love. She let the sensations wash over her in a garble, fascinating, but frustrating in her inability to grasp them long enough to be examined and experienced in fullness. Her creator worked through the night, the chisels gone, replaced with finer tools that combined pleasure and pain in differing degrees. When darkness made sight impossible, he worked by feel, knowing exactly where to draw away what did not belong by the touch of hands and sometimes lips.

During the day, with time to reflect, Galatea ran those sensations that were strongest through her mind at leisure. The first and strongest was her creator's love for her as the essence of woman, clear and bright and radiant in his mind. The second, nearly as strong, was his frustration and bitterness at the frailties of women around him, one who had hurt him deeply and recently, the wound showing fresh and pink in his mind. The dichotomy was almost too much for Galatea to bear. Nothing she had experienced so far had prepared her for contradiction, so she saw no contradiction. She ached to communicate with her creator and say, "Do not despair. I am here. And I am all that you seek." But, she could not speak, being marble and, as yet, her head being roughly carved with no lips.

Soon enough, she had lips. Her creator came to her every day upon waking and stayed late into the night until collapsing in exhaustion. When he touched Galatea, she felt what he felt, but had no context for it. Mostly, she felt the smooth marble of her own skin under his rough, callused hands. Behind it, she felt a gnawing hunger in his belly and a worrisome flickering of his lifeforce as he ate and drank only enough to keep himself going. Some days, he slept at her feet, his devotion not allowing him even the energy to crawl to his couch before sleeping.

Some days now, her creator, whose name she now knew to be Pygmalion, would spend all day and all night caressing her flesh, and she knew it to be flesh, looking for a single imperfection, making only a single strike with one of his finest tools to shave off a single protrusion or deepen a single curve. During this time, Galatea yearned, aching for the strike that would free her from some irritation she didn't even know she had.

Then, for three days, he touched her, running his hands over her surface, his eyes closed most of the time, touching spots with his lips where his fingers were not sensitive enough to know right from wrong. In those three days, he did not find a single spot to strike. Galatea was perfected. Galatea was perfection. During these three days, Galatea knew her own glory fully, feeling it reflected in Pygmalion's mind.

In those last three days, Pygmalion did not eat and drank only small sips of water. Galatea knew fear, then, worrying that he was giving her all of his lifeforce and would expire when she was complete. Finally satisfied, he slept at Galatea's feet, waking only once in the next day, long enough to take a long draught of water. When he woke from his long slumber, he gorged himself on food, purged, and gorged himself again. Then, he sat on his couch and stared at her for a long time. And his gaze was another, gentler caress.

Then, for days on end, Galatea was alone and Pygmalion was nowhere to be seen. And Galatea realized that she was not perfection, only the form of perfection. There was something missing, some small spark that would let her step down from her pedestal, follow Pygmalion where he went, and end the aching loneliness for the only living creature she had known.

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Hi readers, thanks for all your responses for my earlier incidents posted on the site.Those who are reading me for the first time i am 28yr old single guy from delhi working in an TOP IT MNC and enjoy my life to the fullest. The incident i am posting today is not mine but sent to me by a female reader of mine and i am just posting it for all the females reading it to make them realise that there is no problem to express your hidden desires and can go wild if situation require them to do...

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In November the PE classes switched from football and soccer outdoors on the big playground behind the school to basketball and volleyball inside as the weather got colder and wetter. One day Mr. Lehr had Rigby’s section work on foul shots at the three baskets in the boys’ half of the gym. “Want you to take ten, two at a time and then come and tell me how many you made. Get it? Take turns. You can take other shots while you wait, understand, but get ten foul shots.” Half an hour later, near...

Whos That Girl Side B

Who's That Girl - Side B by Kelly Newman With the first stage surgical work done on Martina, Whitehouse and Pamela took Martina home. The next day was Monday and Martina was to be the housemaid and skivvy again for the week. Only this time, she wore her surgical gown all day, which she had to wash every evening before putting on a pinafore to make dinner. Pamela would be out most of the day shopping and sorting things for the wedding. Whitehouse would be at his surgery. This was the...

Transitioning and Bound

It had been a while since I started the hormones, and I couldn't have been happier. I was looking and feeling more womanly than I ever thought possible. It brought me a new confidence when I was in public, and made me feel so much sexier, and girly when I was in the bedroom. My breasts weren't that big, but they were growing over time. I had a nice handful, and Greg said he loved to suck on my nipples. They were so much more sensitive now, so I was all too happy to accommodate him on this. My...

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